Wait Until Dark (The Night Stalkers) by M. L. Buchman

Author:M. L. Buchman [Buchman, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2013-02-04T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

John watched Noreen hug Connie before his sister closed the front door behind them. He took Connie’s hand and led her down the front steps, almost falling down them himself because he was too busy puzzling over what he’d just seen.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” Connie climbed up into the truck easily, despite the skirt that flashed a fascinating bit of leg he’d never noticed in camp shorts.

“You did something. Whacked her on the head? Alien abduction? What? Just this morning she lectured me on how she didn’t trust you. Now she’s hugging you like I don’t know what.” John climbed in and cranked the engine over. He turned the heat up right away. She was gonna freeze without pants despite wearing his sister’s long coat.

“Your sister’s a very smart girl.” They pulled out of the driveway onto the road. Two miles later he turned left on the highway.

“You’re not going to tell me squat.”

Her silence was eloquent. He glanced over and she was staring straight ahead. Staring and smiling like the cat that ate the blasted canary.

Shit, he wasn’t going to get another word out of her on the topic.

Well, he’d wait her out. She’d have to give in at some point.

“I bet we could get the tractor running tomorrow.”

Or not.

“Grumps would like that,” was all he could answer.

Damn her.

***

He’d thought about taking another swing back to the topic of his sister as they arrived at Dave’s, but was distracted by the aroma. Straight out of high school, he’d gone Army and Dave had gone cook.

“Best steaks in all of Oklahoma.”

“Do they serve whole sides? I’m starved.”

“Just smell that.” He pulled open the door. A warm wave of broiled steak and garlicked mashed potatoes, of winter squash and herb dressings washed over them. They stood just inside the softly lit entry and inhaled the smell of heaven.

“Oh, that’s so good!”

“Wait till you taste it. Let me take your coat.”

He took her coat and made half of the turn toward the coat check. Then he cranked back, turning his whole body like a tracked tank, to face the spectacle that was Connie Davis. Her clothes clung to her in sumptuous delight. They accented curves he’d never seen, even in the minimal camp clothes of desert heat. The lines of form were accented in shadows of a green so dark that her eyes shimmered with the warmth of window lights guiding you home.

The neckline didn’t plunge, but it felt as if it did. Where he was used to seeing her dog tags, a simple golden necklace with a teardrop stone the color of her eyes accented the fine definition of her collarbone and her long neck. Then the skirt made her light and airy. And legs. He wondered if his heart was going to pound this loudly all night. Connie Davis had amazing legs.

***

By the end of the soup course John’s brain came back into gear. Or at least partly into gear. Enough that he paid more attention to her conversation than her eyes in the table’s candlelight.

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